When the Cannon Fodder Male Supporting Role Picks Up the Script - Chapter 154

Seeing the situation turn dire, Yan Changtian and Lan Ge stepped forward with the Wu Clan warriors, one raising his staff, the other drawing his bow to bar the intruders’ advance.

“Don’t even think about harming the Saintess!”

Lu Yu clicked his tongue and released a crushing aura that made the crowd falter. He turned slightly toward Yun Zhuoran. “I’ll handle them. You deal with the Saintess.”

“Thank you.” Yun Zhuoran’s tone was calm. 

He and his heart demon exchanged a brief, wordless look.

While Lu Yu engaged the Wu Clan to hold them back, the heart demon dissolved into black mist and followed Yun Zhuoran.

Raising a jade branch filled with sword energy as cold as frost, Yun Zhuoran leveled it at Yun Duo.

Yun Duo’s crimson sleeves trembled as her fingers rapidly formed seals. Brilliant golden light surged from her hands, yet she was clearly unprepared for Yun Zhuoran’s sudden assault. She had expected the Taiyin True Fire—but he had used sword energy instead. Underestimating the attack, she was forced back a step. 

As she steadied herself, a ripple of black mist rose silently behind her.

The red-clad youth emerged, demonic aura spilling forth, a chilling wind following in his wake.

Yun Duo’s spine stiffened. With Yun Zhuoran pressing from the front and the Little Island Master closing in from behind, there was nowhere left to retreat.

In the next instant, sword light and shadow merged—cold brilliance and black mist colliding in a thunderous burst. Spiritual energy, compressed to its limit, exploded outward. The blast swept through the temple like a storm.

As the saying went, “A fire at the city gates spreads to the fish in the pond.”

The weaker Wu Clan members caught in the shockwave were thrown off their feet.

Children screamed as their parents pulled them back, yet none fled.

They still believed their Saintess would drive the invaders away and continue the ritual to break their curse.

In moments, half the temple lay in ruins. Smoke and panic filled the air—but the battle had only begun.

Suddenly, beams of dark violet light flared within the mist shrouding Yun Duo. An immense force burst forth, blasting both Yun Zhuoran and the heart demon backward.

The violet glow spread, engulfing the temple.

Yun Duo’s slender figure rose slowly into the air before the towering statue. Behind her, a pair of vast spiritual butterfly wings unfurled, glowing with divine light. Her veil had fallen, revealing a pale but luminous face—beautiful, almost sacred in the golden radiance flowing from the statue behind her.

The statue itself began to gleam with golden light, answering her aura.

For a moment, silence reigned. Then cries erupted across the temple. “The gods have manifested! The gods protect us!”

Cheers broke out as every eye turned toward their Saintess.

Yun Zhuoran, Weiran, and Lu Yu were momentarily forgotten.

Below the statue, Yun Zhuoran’s expression chilled as he watched the golden radiance pour into Yun Duo’s body.

Weiran frowned. “Brother, that’s the power of faith drawn from the Wu Clan. She’s right next to its source. Even if her strength wanes, the faith energy will restore it instantly. Here, she can’t be worn down.”

So that was why Yun Duo had stayed within the temple even knowing her location was exposed. This was her sanctuary—the heart of Fengtian Temple—where the people’s faith replenished her endlessly. To leave this place would weaken her; to remain made her nearly invincible.

Golden threads streamed from the statue into Yun Duo, unbroken and ceaseless.

Yun Zhuoran couldn’t yet find a way to sever the link. He knew she would never willingly step away from the shrine. 

Just as his heart demon had foreseen, this would not end quickly.

He glanced toward Lu Yu. The Great Ascension cultivator’s strength had shaken the temple itself, yet the Wu Clan still fought back with desperate resolve.

Yun Zhuoran’s eyes darkened. “Tormented by their curse, the Wu Clan’s yearning for release has turned into the purest faith. Their devotion feeds the temple—this is their only hope.”

The deeper their despair, the stronger the Fengtian Temple grew.

The heart demon asked quietly, “What should we do?”

“Be cautious,” Yun Zhuoran said, his voice low. Then he raised his sword and charged again.
The heart demon followed, his black mist swirling behind him.

The battle reignited.

Yun Duo’s power had increased, but she still could not suppress Yun Zhuoran. Even weakened, his mastery far surpassed hers. With the heart demon’s support, her defense began to crack.

Moments later, Lu Yu broke through Yan Changtian and Lan Ge’s defense and soared into the fight. With his arrival, the balance tipped completely.

By the time the sun reached its zenith, Yun Duo was struck down beneath the Taiyin True Fire’s searing brilliance. The golden light of the statue dimmed as she crashed to the floor, her crimson robes scorched and torn.

The Wu Clan gasped and rushed to protect her. Even the injured Yan Changtian and Lan Ge threw themselves in front of her.

Across the shattered temple, Yun Zhuoran, Weiran, and Lu Yu descended. Their robes were scorched and torn, but none were defeated.

Lu Yu exhaled sharply. “What a nuisance.” His tone turned mocking. “If I were you, I’d leave now. This matter is between us and your Saintess. It has nothing to do with you.”

The Wu Clan cultivators were no match for them, yet among them were children. Even Lu Yu refrained from striking further, and Yun Zhuoran and Weiran made no move to press the advantage.

At that moment, Yan Que stumbled in from the underground palace, his robe soaked in blood and slashed by blades. His eyes widened as they fell on Yun Duo, pale and crumpled among her people.

Yan Changtian and Lan Ge were startled to see him alive, but there was no time for questions. They steadied their weapons and held their ground.

Before Yan Que could speak, more figures entered the ruined hall—Penglai Immortal, Pei Heng, and the others. The sight of their foreign robes deepened the Wu Clan’s unease.

Then, two more figures appeared.

The crowd gasped—it was their Great Wuzhu, Xu Zhichun.

Relief shone briefly in their eyes—but it vanished when they saw Wen Jianxian and Li Jianming right behind him.

Worse still, Xu Zhichun ignored their cries and walked straight toward Yun Zhuoran’s group.

“Great Wuzhu, come here!” Their voices rang in desperation, but Xu Zhichun only hesitated for an instant before continuing forward. His choice was clear.

Several Wu Clan members broke down in tears. “Great Wuzhu, are you abandoning us?” Others shouted in anger, begging him to turn back.

Xu Zhichun lowered his head, silent. His silence was answer enough.

Yun Zhuoran met his eyes and immediately understood—the silent plea Meng Ye had made: to spare the Wu Clan. 

Yun Zhuoran had never promised.

“The Great Wuzhu is heartless!” someone cried. “Why side with outsiders now? What good have they ever brought us?”

The temple echoed with grief and fury, the crowd’s faith collapsing into despair. 

Xu Zhichun said nothing, and in time their shouts dulled to stunned silence.

Yan Changtian’s hand clenched on his staff. Then he raised it high and shouted, “Enough!”

The temple fell still.

All eyes turned to the Wu Clan leader. His face was drawn with sorrow, but his voice was steady. Behind the adults, children peered out, their clear eyes filled with confusion. Fear had begun to replace faith.

Yan Changtian understood their feelings. To many among the Wu, Xu Zhichun had always been the embodiment of compassion—their living god. None had ever imagined he would one day stand on the opposite side.

But it was precisely that compassion that had made them dependent. When kindness became habit, gratitude turned to expectation; when the giver finally stopped giving, resentment took its place.

A little kindness breeds thankfulness—too much breeds anger.

Even so, Yan Changtian could not bear to sever the bond between the Great Wuzhu and his people. He felt no right to judge him. The Wu Clan owed Xu Zhichun too great a debt. To strike at him now would be disgraceful.

At the very least, Xu Zhichun should not leave believing the Wu Clan unworthy of the mercy he had once shown.

Even Lan Ge—the Black Moon leader known for her fierce hatred of outsiders—remained silent.

Yan Changtian drew a slow breath, then smiled faintly. “It is a blessing for all the Wu Clan that the Great Wuzhu has chosen the brighter path. On behalf of our people, I wish you peace in the years to come. Thank you for everything you’ve done for us. We will never repay your kindness in this lifetime. Please accept this token of our gratitude.”

Before anyone could react, he lowered his staff and knelt before Xu Zhichun. 

Gasps filled the hall.“Chief—Chief Lan Ge!”

Under Xu Zhichun’s stunned gaze, Lan Ge also bowed and knelt beside Yan Changtian. She rose quickly, longbow in hand, his tone resolute. “We are grateful for all the Great Wuzhu has done. Anyone who dares speak ill of you before me will die by my hand. But, Great Wuzhu… today, you stand against us. That makes you our enemy.”

Yan Changtian sighed and lifted his staff again. “Great Wuzhu, Lan Ge speaks truly. As long as you hold this title, none of us will insult you. Should anyone forget your kindness, Lan Ge and I will be the first to deal with them. We would give our lives for you… but not today.”

With both the Wu City Chief and the Black Moon leader declaring their stance, the crowd fell silent. Remembering Xu Zhichun’s past mercy, shame replaced anger.

Xu Zhichun’s voice was low. “Must it truly come to this, Clan Leader? Why?”

Yan Changtian’s bitter smile held no malice. “It was the Saintess who found a way to cure the curse. For the future of our people, we must protect her to the death.”

“Give me more time,” Xu Zhichun pleaded. “I can find another way.”

“It’s too late,” Yan Changtian replied quietly. “Once the blood-transfusion ritual begins, there’s no turning back.” He bowed deeply. “Thank you, Great Wuzhu, for everything you’ve done for us.”

Xu Zhichun’s eyes dimmed. He no longer tried to reason with them. Weary and desolate, he stepped aside. Meng Ye supported him in silence, his face etched with sorrow.

Xu Zhichun had known Yan Changtian for many years. Since his return, he had tried countless times to dissuade the Wu Clan, yet each attempt ended in failure. Their resolve was unshakable—and today was no different.

A low, chilling laugh broke the silence of the ruined temple. It came from within the circle of Wu Clan shielding their Saintess. The frail woman bowed her head, her soft chuckle echoing oddly through the air as her thin shoulders trembled.

Yun Zhuoran had given Xu Zhichun his chance, but it was he who had failed to sway his people.

Now Yun Duo raised her head, smiling radiantly. “At this point,” she said sweetly, “you might as well call out your god to save you.” Pressing her blood-stained hands to the ground, she slowly pushed herself upright. She wiped the blood from her lips with her sleeve, then turned that same bright smile toward the Wu Clan. “I’m truly pleased that you’ll protect me to the death. It makes me feel so much less guilty.”

“Saintess…”

Seeing her wavering figure, Yan Changtian and Lan Ge both stepped forward instinctively to support her—but her cold glare stopped them in their tracks. 

Alarm flickered in their eyes; neither dared to move closer.

Yun Zhuoran also sensed something wrong. He watched as Yun Duo took an unsteady step forward. Beneath her calm smile, malice twisted her expression.

“My brother Zhuoran,” she said softly, “do you truly believe your god is here?” She sneered. “How naïve. Didn’t Xu Zhichun ever tell you? The god has never once appeared before the Wu Clan. Why would he show himself for you?”

All eyes turned to Xu Zhichun. 

Yun Zhuoran’s gaze followed. 

The bitter curve of Xu Zhichun’s mouth was answer enough.
“I didn’t expect your goal was the god himself,” he murmured.

Weiran frowned. “He truly never appeared?”

“Never,” Xu Zhichun replied quietly. “Not even when the Fengtian Temple was first completed.”

Penglai Immortal looked disbelieving. “Not even when the Saintess was in danger?”

Yun Duo laughed aloud and clapped her hands. “Exactly! Isn’t it wonderful? And yet you dare to step into Fengtian Temple without knowing this?” Her gaze locked on Yun Zhuoran, eyes sharp as blades. “But that’s fine, Brother Zhuoran. I’ve prepared a grave for you here. See if you like it—it’s my parting gift.”

Disgust flickered in Yun Zhuoran’s eyes. “Without him, you have no escape.”

Her smile contorted into hatred. “Escape?” she hissed. “I never planned to. Today, either you die or I do.”

Her hands came together in a seal. Dark violet spiritual energy gathered between her palms, condensing into a glowing sphere. With a cruel smile, she shot into the air. The sphere swelled rapidly, its eerie light spreading across the temple.

A wave of dread struck Yun Zhuoran and the others.

“Retreat!” Lu Yu barked. His expression hardened as he threw out a magic treasure, a barrier of light flaring around them. 

At the same instant, the heart demon rushed in front of Yun Zhuoran, shielding him from the oncoming surge of violet energy. Penglai Immortal reacted a heartbeat too late; the blast was already upon them.

Yun Zhuoran glanced at him briefly, offering silent reassurance, then patted the heart demon’s back. 

Turning toward the Wu Clan, his voice was cold. “It’s not us.”

“…What?” the heart demon whispered. 

He peered past Yun Zhuoran’s shoulder—then froze.

Outside Lu Yu’s barrier, a blood-red formation had appeared. Nearly all the Wu Clan children, who had been herded to the rear of the hall, were trapped inside. The adults—including Yan Changtian and Lan Ge—stood outside, powerless to reach them.

The children screamed as they fell. Black-violet demonic patterns crept over their skin, staining their eyes red.

The Saintess smiled faintly.

“No…” The Wu Clan adults surged forward in panic, only to be flung back by the barrier of the formation. Their cries turned hoarse with terror.

Yan Changtian’s staff trembled in his grip. His voice cracked. “Saintess… are you lifting the curse from the children?”

“Lifting the curse?” Yun Duo’s laugh was cold enough to still the air. “If a blood transfusion alone could lift it, why didn’t your ancestors do so long ago? Fools. It merely suppresses the curse—for a month. When that month ends, it returns. And once a child passes ten years of age, the method fails entirely.”

Her words plunged the hall into an icy silence.

Some wailed through their tears. “Then what are you doing? Let them go!”

“Let them go?” Yun Duo’s smile vanished, leaving only contempt. “When you captured the children of others, did you ever think about mercy? Have you never heard—‘Do not do to others what you do not wish done to yourself’? Those who kill will be killed.”

Her words struck like knives.

Yan Changtian’s shoulders sagged, his face drained of color. 

Inside the formation, his young son stretched out his small hand toward him, crying as the demonic marks spread across his body. 

Yan Changtian’s eyes reddened; the staff slipped from his grasp. He seemed to age decades in an instant.

“Retribution…” he murmured, his voice breaking. “This is retribution…”

The Wu Clan collapsed into despair. Parents hurled themselves against the barrier, again and again, only to be flung back bloodied. No matter how they struggled, they could do nothing but watch as their children—the future of the Wu Clan—were consumed by the very Saintess they had devoted their lives to protect.

The future of the Wu Clan was gone.